


i found love where it wasn't supposed to be (talk some sense to me)

by Mx_Carter



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampires, F/F, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Stick's A+ Mentoring, Threesome - F/F/F, Threesome - F/M/M, and matt murdock is mostly a confused one, in which wilson fisk is mostly a good person, this is trash I am trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Carter/pseuds/Mx_Carter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It won’t work. I…can’t heal. Not enough energy.”</p><p>“That’s not how the human body works, you know.”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>“I’m going to go ahead and mark you down as concussed.”</p><p> <br/>Or, Matt's never had a coven before. Now he does - well, sort of - he's not really sure what to do with it.</p><p>Or, the weird poly vampire fic no-one asked for, and Cats made me write anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catsaremyboyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsaremyboyfriend/gifts).



> Title from I Found by Amber Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wilson contemplates social customs, abandonment, and Matt.

Above all things, Wilson wishes he had been the one to turn Matthew.

He is young for the leader of a coven, but he has had fledglings before, and he is intimately familiar with the process. There is something viscerally satisfying about it, about being the one to take a human and open their eyes to a whole new state of being. To change them so irrevocably, so completely. To be a guide, a teacher, a bastion of strength and comfort to a creature so newly reborn. The power is heady, the trust intoxicating. Some of his fledglings have remained with him, while some have left to join or start new covens, but all of them retain some ties to him. It’s only natural – he has never felt anything so strong as the bond between sire and fledgling. The urge to protect and cherish, to share every discovery and lesson learnt, the proprietary affection; every time, he learns to appreciate it more. Wilson would do anything for his fledglings, and they for him. He simply cannot imagine doing anything less.

The very thought of _abandoning_ one of his creations in their hour of need makes him want to vomit.

Even worse is how calm Matthew is about the whole tragedy. He rarely speaks about it, but when he does, well. To look at him, you’d think he was describing the time he’d dropped and broken his favourite mug. Regrettable, of course, but nothing worth dwelling on.

Oh, he had known that Matthew had a different way of looking at the world than most of their kind. For one raised so haphazardly and left alone surrounded by humanity for so long, it was unavoidable. But there is a difference between Matthew’s predilection for physical violence, his perverse love of consuming food, his rejection of most natural hierarchy, and, well. This.

Matthew has been subjected to one of the worst cruelties one nosferatu can met out on another, and he doesn’t even _notice_.

The worst part is, he is in no way unaffected. If he truly were, Wilson could perhaps come to terms with it, and eventually shrug it off as one of Matthew’s many quirks. But after spending so much time with him, it’s very obvious that his sire’s betrayal has left a deep scar on him.

He simply doesn’t view it as anything worth examining.

It’s mind-blowing, and so awfully _sad_.

When Wilson had first met Matthew, the lack of other scent markers on him had been one of the first things he’d recognised. He’d had maybe one nosferatu scent on him – Wilson can now identify this as Karen Page – and a jumble of human ones. Even Vanessa had plenty of companiable scents on her, and she was the only nosferatu he’d known to genuinely prefer solitary life to companionship. To him, Matthew positively _stank_ of loneliness.  

It had taken a long time for Matthew to allow him to change that.

Things are better now. They still have their customary fights and misunderstandings – this ‘Stick’ really has taught Matthew nothing, it seems. Another black mark against him to add to his already generous supply – but truth be told, Wilson is beginning to enjoy those. There is something delightful about having to _earn_ the respect he’d become accustomed too. And oh, Matthew gives it up so _beautifully_. Somehow his eventual submission is even more precious for how hard it is to gain. Matthew is like no lover he has ever taken. Wilson knows he should be educating him on the proper way to behave around other nosferatu, helping him to understand that which his sire had not, but he can’t help but cherish every eccentricity, every tiny oddness that makes Matthew the incredible being he is.

Which makes his sire’s betrayal even worse.

Could the man not _see_ the prize he’d had in Matthew? How could he not have understood how beautiful the man was, how utterly perfect in every one of his imperfections?  That he’d had such a treasure and simply tossed him aside, _left_ him to the mercies of an unmerciful world completely defenceless…it is impossible to conceive of anyone so callous, so _stupid_. 

Not a night goes by when Wilson does not think of how much _better_ he would have been to Matthew.    

Wilson fantasises about that sometimes. He knows Matthew had been turned young by human standards, but in his mind, Matthew is slightly older. In law school perhaps, fiery and idealistic as the rebels of old, yet so very broken. His face fresh, for all that his heart was bruised and aching.

He would have courted him, showered him with gifts and affections. Taken him out to the best restaurants – human cuisine is a weakness he has inherited from his sire, and one he does sometimes indulge – brought him to concerts and recitals, filled his barren existence with luxury. Shown Matthew all the things he had been missing, all the wonderful reasons to live. Laughed and debated with him, drawn him out of that mild-mannered human shell he’d built up in self-defence to set that gorgeous passion ablaze.

Once he had been assured of Matthew’s affections, he would have revealed his true nature to the boy, shown him everything he was. Wilson feels he knows Matthew well enough to be sure that, even as a human, he would not have run from him. Perhaps he would have been wary, even cut contact for a few days, but he would have returned.

Perhaps Wilson would have seduced him then; perhaps Matthew would have seduced _him_. But in the end, it would have been immaterial. At some point, Wilson would have asked to turn him, and at some point Matthew would have said yes.

From what little he has managed to draw from his recalcitrant lover, Matthew’s turning had been one of the most traumatic experiences of his life. That always enrages Wilson; the change should _never_ be a source of that much fear. If _he_ had been the one to turn him, as he _should_ have been, he would have made it so _special_ for Matthew.    

Yes, Wilson would have been so careful, so _tender_. He would have taken Matthew to his apartment, dined with him, slowly eased any nervousness until his chosen was loose and relaxed, before gathering Matthew to him. They would have kissed, touched, and he would have carried Matthew to his bedroom, laid him out on silk sheets and touched him until he was _begging_ for Wilson’s bite.

And of course, he wouldn’t have kept him waiting.

For all the delicacies he’s sampled – even nosferatu blood, which is a delicacy all of its own – there is nothing quite the same as fresh, freely given human blood. And oh, Matthew would have tasted so _sweet_ , better than anything else could ever taste. Wilson has fed from Matthew before, so he can easily picture the shocked look of bliss his face would have taken on as Wilson drank from him. He may even have wavered, wondered if perhaps they could not draw Matthew’s humanity out a little longer. But eventually, he would have gone through with their plan.

He can almost _see_ what Matthew would have looked like as he drank from Wilson’s wrist, as he pulled away shaking and bloody-lipped. How he would have gasped before diving in for more, the bloodied yet still graceful curve of his neck as he _swallowed_. Wilson would gladly give so much to see that.

And when the Fever took hold, Wilson would have held him through it, rocked him as he cried, stroked his flanks as he heaved and sobbed, murmured a constant stream of reassurance to him. All five days he would not have left Matthew’s side for a moment.

And when it was over, when Matthew’s brand new eyes finally slid open – but still blind, he cannot imagine a world in which Matthew is not blind, it is a part of him as surely as his humour and his stubbornness, another part of him Wilson would not change for the world - when his newly sensitive hands stretched out, Wilson would have moved those hands to his face. He would have had the honour of being the first thing Matthew ever perceived.

Wilson’s greatest regret is that he had not come across Matthew sooner. And yet…

Despite everything, if he was ever truly given the chance to rewrite Matthew’s history, he knows he would refuse. For better or for worse, Matthew is Matthew, and he will never not love him in everything he is.

Still, it is nice to dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire is introduced to Karen, numbers are exchanged and beers are had.

The first time Karen meets Claire, she’s wearing plaid. That should be an omen, but in fairness, she’s distracted. 

Mostly she’s distracted by the smell of Claire’s blood, which isn’t actually less gay, now she thinks about it. Mind you, Claire has great-smelling blood. And Karen hasn’t fed in a while, because of Matt’s moral hang-ups and her desire to keep the only other friendly vampire she knows around for as long as possible. So yeah, distracting.

The fact that Claire sees her wearing a too-long men’s plaid shirt and, judging by her glance at Matt and her raised eyebrow, immediately assumes she and Matt are sleeping together is a bit of a bummer. Thankfully Claire doesn’t comment, and just gestures at a still-healing Matt in the universal gesture for _get this useless lump off me_. Karen complies – and if she gets another delicious mouthful of Claire’s scent, well. Vampire senses.

Karen scoops up her semi-conscious friend and carries him to his bed, where she deposits him as gently as possible. He may make some sort of noise, but she’s not actually sure what it means, so she leaves it, and him, be. Then she turns back to his sitting room, where Claire has dropped onto the couch like she has stones in her pockets, weighing her down. Karen, who by then has put together the pieces to realise that this is Claire, Matt’s new nurse/donor, gets them two beers.

Claire takes her beer gratefully, but side-eye’s Karen’s. After taking a deep drink, she speaks up in a voice that sounds like it’s gotten used to asking questions like this. “I didn’t think you guys drank beer.”

Obviously lifting gangly, muscly Matt Murdock like a sleeping baby was a bit of an identity reveal. “We can, but it’s kind of like humans living on candy floss.” At Claire’s flat look she clarifies; “No nutritional value, and it doesn’t even fill us up.”

Claire nods, though she looks like she’s still puzzling it out. Eventually, after a few more deep draws, she asks “Then why drink it?”

_her older brother passes her one, and she’s way too young but she takes it anyway, and it tastes gross, but like family_

She shrugs. “I like the taste.”

That gets her a snort. “No-one likes the taste of beer. You drink beer because it has alcohol in it, and your friends are watching you.”

Karen shrugs again. “You’ve brought my only vampire contact back from death’s door at least five times, so I think you qualify as a friend by now.” Or a little more, but Karen doesn’t exactly have many friends, and beggars can’t be choosers.

Claire’s gaze sharpens and yeah, Karen thinks she likes her. “Is that all he is to you?”

Now it’s Karen’s turn to snort. “We’re not together, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I guess he counts as a friend too.” She and Matt could be more, she’s even considered it, but all of Karen’s relationships have ended messily, and she can’t risk that with Matt.

There’s something sympathetic in Claire’s eyes. “You sleep over at his house, and you’re not sure if he’s a friend. You don’t have many friends, do you?” It’s not said unkindly, just matter-of-fact. Insulting if anyone else said it, but Karen can’t help but appreciate the lack of bullshit. Half-cohabiting with a stubborn, lying lawyer will do that to you.

She could make like a Matt and lie, but there’s no point, and she’s _tired_ , and she likes Claire. “Not really, no.” Claire digests this, and some more beer, for a minute, then fishes a pen out of her pocket and reaches for Karen’s hand. Surprised, Karen lets Claire pull it to her, taking a moment to marvel at the woman’s warm, calloused palms and the scent of antibacterial handwash, various products and _Claire_ before the tug of the biro on her skin brings her back. When she looks down at her hand, Claire has finished writing her number.

Well, that was easy.

Claire smiles at her, tired but kind. “I should probably hit the sack now; my shift starts early tomorrow. But if you’re ever feeling lonely…” She trails off, but not out of embarrassment. Karen hones in on her heartbeat, and it’s steady. Not just lying out of pity then; she actually means it. After all the shit that’s happened to her, she’s unused to simple kindness; even Matt’s is purposeful. He needs another vampire around – she has no hard feelings about that, she does too. But someone volunteering to spend time with her for the simple purpose of spending time…Foggy’s the only one who’s done that in years, and he’s nice to everyone. It doesn’t count if you’re nice to everyone.

Karen lets her smile turn just _slightly_ predatory, not enough to be creepy, but hopefully enough to get her intentions over. “You know, I might take you up on that.”

The smile she gets back is a match for hers, and it makes something warm and absent for so long coil in her gut. “I look forward to it.”

After Claire leaves, Karen finishes her beer and runs a hand over the soft plaid. After a few minutes, she realises the significance of the print, and doubles over laughing.

It’s not even that funny, but hey. A hot girl just voluntarily wrote her number on her hand. Karen’s feeling good.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vanessa conducts a very polite home invasion, and Foggy does his good deed for the month.

There’s a very large part of Foggy that basically just wants to nope out of this room, and the entire apartment building to boot. Sure, he’s knowingly been best friends with two vampires, both of whom can be damn terrifying when they want to be, for half a year now. Being friends with Matt, even without knowing what he was, has half-deadened him to the various weirdnesses vampires can’t seem to help. Karen and Matt put on great fronts, but they slip up more and more around him, and, yeah, he’s so used to them he barely even notices half the time. Add in Brett’s coven, who’ve gleefully relaxed their human personas now he’s in the know, and Foggy had honestly thought he was prepared to be the Token Human in any vampire gathering you care to name.

Turns out Matt and Karen are statistical anomalies and should not have been counted, because Ms Marianna – “Please call me Vanessa, surnames are such a _human_ thing.” – is absolutely nothing like them at all.

For one, she’s totally, one hundred percent inhuman. As in, he cannot bring himself to turn his back on her, and he’s fairly sure she stopped breathing ten minutes ago, except for a few regular, deep sniffs.

They’re in Matt’s living room (well, Matt and Karen’s, at this point, don’t think Foggy hasn’t noticed one of his friends sneakily moving in with the other) because Matt is out kicking muggers in the teeth for justice, and Ms Marianna – nope, not calling her Vanessa, because Foggy _is_ human, dammit, and she’s way too _formal_ for first names anyway – apparently needs to talk to Karen and him together. Specifically _together_. Therefore they’re waiting for Matt to crawl back, so the important information can be disclosed. For some reason, said information cannot be disclosed to Karen on her own to disclose to Matt later, and Vanessa had given him a slightly affronted look when he suggested it, so they are now waiting.

Foggy is waiting with them because when he tried to leave, Karen shot him a cross between a glare and her frankly impressive puppy-dog eyes, and he has therefore selflessly decided not to abandon his buddy in her hour of need. Let it never be said that Foggy Nelson is a bad friend.

It’s kind of comforting that he’s not the only one who finds Ms Marianna scarily alien.

So now they’re sitting. In an amazingly awkward silence, with Karen and Foggy on the couch Matt sometimes bleeds on, and Vanessa ridiculously straight-backed in the chair Foggy sometimes falls asleep in after letting Matt feed off him to stop him bleeding on the couch, before Matt heals enough to get up and move him to said couch. They have a system now. It’s sad.

Karen is slouching way more than she normally does. It’s probably to make some kind of point. Foggy doesn’t think his friend likes Ms Marianna much.

Maybe it’s Karen’s version of teenage rebellion.

That makes him snort, way too loud. Karen’s head snaps round to him, and wow, she’s on edge. She only reacts to things that blurrily fast when she’s freaked out. Ms Marianna’s head turns comparatively slowly, but the upshot is that they’re both staring at him. And yep, he just made things at least twenty percent more awkward. He is magic.

He mumbles some sort of apology, and they go back to default – Karen staring at random parts of the room, Ms Marianna staring at Karen.

Yup, Karen owes him _so much_ for staying with her.

Still, while he’s here, he can take time to observe the most vampiric vampire he’s met yet, and he once toughed it out in a room with _Fisk_ for five minutes. Ms Marianna is like him, in some ways. How she carries herself, her ever-so-slightly-off cadences. Foggy’s sure she’s normally better at pretending to be human, because apparently she runs a gallery that caters to humans and everything, but for some reason she’s not bothering around him. Fisk hadn’t either.

He really can’t decide if that’s comforting or worrying.

And then there’s the way she and Karen are interacting, which is a whole new level of weird. Obviously there’s _something_ going on there, because Karen is stiff as a freaking board, her shoulders almost a straight line, and she’s spent the whole night to be as unwelcoming and confrontational as possible, while taking pains not to be anywhere near Ms Marianna’s personal space. Ms Marianna has definitely noticed this, and is looking almost _smug_ about the whole affair. It’s actually getting to the point where Foggy just want her to _leave_ already.

Human he may be, but he does not deal well with someone threatening his friends, even if it’s just by making them look half like they want to crawl out of their skin and half like they want to make a Molotov cocktail and throw it somewhere it’ll cause maximum property damage. 

It’s probably some sort of dominance thing. According to Brett, if in doubt, go with power struggle. Wesley had umm’d and ah’d, before essentially coming out with the same thing, only in a more roundabout way. Much as Foggy hates to think of his friends as animals pissing on trees to see who’s alpha, it’s cleared a lot of things up. Especially interactions between _his_ vampires and the other groups of vampires around Hell’s Kitchen. _Especially_ especially interactions between his vampires and the vampires Foggy’s pretty sure are used to being alpha.

It’s easier with Bess; she loves Matt and Karen like they’re her own, while acknowledging that they’re not. Even better – this might be the problem, actually – she doesn’t expect them to behave like proper vampires.

Apparently the first time Matt met Fisk, they had a knock-down, blow-out fight because Matt missed some vital social cue and brought dishonour on Fisk’s house or something. Then refused to correct it when Fisk pointed it out. This surprises Foggy exactly not at all.

The problem with Matt and Karen, stupid stubborn ducks that they are, is that instead of adjusting their behaviour when they’re around vampires who could legitimately kill them for fucking up on the proper titles or whatever, they go the opposite way and do their best to piss said vampires off as much as possible. Hence Karen slouching, and meeting Ms Marianna’s eyes dead on whenever they’re talking, and probably a thousand other things Foggy is missing. All of which probably translate to _rude_.

Thing is, when Matt does this with Fisk, he takes it as some kind of challenge. And rises to it. Foggy mostly tries to stay well out of Matt’s love life, because it never ends well, and therefore he is just going to…keep an eye…on the whole situation. From the next room over. Also judge Matt fairly hard for his bad life choices.

Anyway, Fisk tends to meet Matt’s stubbornness with aggression, which seems to work for them, mostly. Ms Marianna just looks _amused_. Like she’s watching a puppy act up after being told to heel, and she thinks it’s adorable, and therefore is going to let it go on in the full knowledge that she could correct the puppy if she wanted.

And that _pisses Karen off_.

Hence Foggy feeling like how diplomats from neutral countries must have felt when sitting between American and Russian diplomats during Cold War negotiations. Awkward, terrified, confused, and very wary of attracting attention from the two superpowers with nukes. That’s unfair on Karen, he knows, but if she’s making him sit through this, then he’s allowed at least one uncharitable thought about her.

It takes an hour for Matt to get home. A fucking hour of tense silence and creepy staring. When Matt finally crawls in through the window, thankfully uninjured, Foggy practically bolts for the door.

Honestly, he’d have preferred if Ms Marianna had pulled a Fisk and they’d had a big smashy fight. That way he’d have at least had an excuse to get out of there.

A part of him wants to ask what the important vampire business was when Matt and Karen get into work the next morning, but he doesn’t. Something about the way Karen beats up the printer with slightly too much force warns him off.

Never has he been gladder to be human, and not have to deal with freaky social hierarchy bullshit. Man, did he luck out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stick conducts an extremely impolite home invasion, and Karen comes very close to killing a bitch.

Karen can hear Matt coming back – she’d know his heartbeat anywhere. But tonight there’s someone else with him, and their heartbeat is scarily fast. Vampire fast.

They’re moving quickly, so she has time to shoot Claire a quick text - _if i dont give u a heads up in half n hour call the emergency no. x_ \- and get some of the breakables out of the way before the door is opening. Matt’s familiar scent is the first thing she picks up, and she tenses – he’s uninjured, but something’s really freaking him out. The next thing she smells gives her a good idea why.

The other guy with Matt is a vampire, like she’d thought, and he’s almost completely unfamiliar to her. He doesn’t smell like Fisk’s people, or any of the smaller covens, but there’s…something about him she recognises. If she can just _focus_ …

The strange vamp hones in on her as soon as he walks in, and she spots the cane and glasses before anything else. Another blind vampire. That rings a bell, especially when she sees the way Matt’s behaving. He’s skittish, angry looking. Karen feels her fangs slide out slightly, and forces them back. This is Matt’s problem, until he says it isn’t. Then she’ll help him tear this guy apart.

Her friend takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back, and manages to get out “Karen, this is…” before the stranger interrupts him.

“I’m Stick,” he says, and his voice is curt and cold. “His sire.”

Both of them look surprised when Karen snarls.

Honestly, Karen’s kind of surprised that her first instinct is to make the most animalistic sound she’s made for a long time, but on the other hand, she’s really not. Matt’s told her about his sire before, not much, but more than enough. Enough to know that the guy’s a total dickwad who Changed Matt without permission, fucked him over and abandoned him in a human orphanage, run by _nuns_ for fucks sake. Even her sire, prick that he’d been, hadn’t been _that_ terrible.

How _dare_ he. How dare this asshole come back here, where Matt is safe, where he’s built a home and a life for himself. How dare he be looking at Karen like _that_ , like she’s dirt on his shoes. God, she wants to _kill_ him.

Stick actually has the nerve to look _affronted_ , the piece of shit. “Didn’t tell me you got yourself a girlfriend, Matt.” He somehow manages to give the impression of having dragged his eyes up and down here without actually _doing_ anything she can accuse him of. Then he snorts contemptuously and turns to Matt. “Well, least you didn’t go above your station.”

Karen feels her cheeks heat and, dammit, she’d forgotten how _shitty_ comments like that could make her feel.  No-ones spoken to her like this since she…since her sire died, and it hurts, okay. It hurts that he’s taken one look – figuratively speaking – at her, and all he notices is that she’s young and she doesn’t have a coven. Like that’s all he needs to know about her.

Well, now she just wants to kill him _more._

Matt’s fists clench, his frame tight. “Look, this is _my_ house, and if you could restrain yourself from being a dick for a minute, that’d be great.”

Another snort. “Not much of a house. Kind of a shithole, really.”

“Yeah, well it’s still my shithole, so you owe Karen and I a bit of respect.” Good; Matt’s just as angry as she is. “I know that much.”

“You don’t know shit, kid.” And then the asshole sits down in the armchair like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Thanks to you,” Karen can’t stop herself from saying.

Stick’s head swivels round to her, and she absolutely _does not_ feel intimidated. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said,” – and Karen can feel her voice drop, go soft and dangerous, and oh god, this is so much déjà vu that she _never wanted_ – “thanks to you. Thanks to you changing him when he was a _kid_ , without bothering to fucking _ask_ him, or even _try_ to explain what you were doing. Thanks to you treating him like shit for years, letting him think it was _his_ fault, that _he_ was somehow in the wrong, not behaving like he _should_. Thanks to you throwing him out on his ass when you couldn’t handle the way he acted around you, like you hadn’t changed him and made him act like that in the first place – hell, I bet you _encouraged_ it.” She’s grinning now, fierce and ugly, teeth bared. “Thanks to you leaving him in a human orphanage without giving him jack shit to go on. Thanks to you fucking him up and fucking him over, and leaving him to spend his whole fucking _life_ wondering what _he_ did wrong.” Matt’s looking at her like he’s never even seen her before, shocked and so _grateful_. Karen looks down at the piece of shit in the chair below her, and feels _powerful_.

Stick’s lip curls, and he hasn’t even dropped his _fangs_ , like he doesn’t even think she’s a threat. Karen swears she sees red.

“What do you know, fledgling bitch?” he spits out.

In an instant, Matt is in front of him, fists curled and lips peeled back. “Don’t talk to her like that,” he growls, and Karen feels a surge of affection. Matt is _hers_ , her people, they’re a team and they can deal with this piece of shit together.

Stick stands, and Matt doesn’t step back; they’re face to face, barely any space between them and glaring at each other. Karen moves to stand beside him, both of them penning Stick in. The asshole in question is flat-out snarling now, fangs almost fully extended. The whole room feels hot, and close, and she just wants to start _hitting_.

“Maybe,” Stick growls, fangs distorting his voice, “I should teach you two a bit of respect for your elders and betters.”

“Try it,” Matt growls back, and Karen snarls beside him, beyond words.

Matt’s the first one to throw a punch – only fair, seeing as this is his sire – but Karen is right behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Matt is Changed, and Stick is a colossal motherfucker.

Matt shouldn’t be out right now, he knows that. But he hates the orphanage, hates the dusty air, the kids who won’t stop tripping him and moving his stuff, the nuns whose pity feels worse than the slimy mud Rupert Walters threw in his hair the other day.

Besides, he’s just in the park, and it’s probably daylight. He knows the way back to the orphanage, and he should be able to sneak in through the back entrance without anyone seeing. He’ll be fine.

~~~

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting on the bench; eventually someone big and heavy-footed walks up to him. He tenses up, and the person clears their throat.

“Getting pretty late, kid. Probably best if you get back home.”

Matt nods. The guy shuffles his feet, before asking “You got anyone to take you back?”

He should probably say yes, to get the man to go away, but he might get caught in a lie, so he shakes his head. The guy sighs gustily.

“Look, I’ll take you back. S’long as it isn’t far.”

Matt makes himself speak up. “I know the way.”

“I bet you do, kid. But it’s not a great area, and I can’t let a kid walk back on his own this late. Ain’t right. Ease an old man’s mind a little?” It doesn’t feel like pity, not like when the nuns do it. And if he says no, he doesn’t know what this guy will do. Maybe call the nuns, and then he’ll get in massive trouble.

So he nods, and stands up carefully, sweeping his cane out to check where the man is standing. It knocks against his shoe on his first pass, and the guy snorts.  “Careful with that, y’could take someone’s foot off.”

Matt can’t help but snicker at that, and he hears the man huff happily. He turns left, and starts walking. The man catches up with him in a few strides.

He half expects the man to try and take his arm, like the nuns do, but he just walks beside him as they reach the road. Then he puts a light hand on Matt’s shoulder, no more than you’d do for any other kid. Matt’s grateful.

After the road, they walk until Matt’s cane hits the second alley, and he turns into it. Behind him, the man stops suddenly.

“You’re not serious, kid.”

Matt is serious, and he says so – this is the way to the back door of the orphanage. The man sighs deeply, mutters something about dumbass kids with no sense of self-preservation, and then follows him through. He walks slightly in front of Matt this time, as if he’s guarding him. It must be a pretty sketchy-looking alley.

They turn a corner, to the bit where the alley goes behind a big building, when something lands in front of them, and the man lets out a shocked gasp.

The man shoves him away, sending him stumbling into the wall, and lets out a yell. Something – the thing that landed in front of them, he thinks - snarls, and there’s the sound of someone being slammed into a wall. The man screams, loud and terrified, but it’s quickly cut off and replaced by a choking noise, and a horrible slurping sound. Matt wants to run, to get away from whatever this is, but he can’t make himself move. He stays frozen, back pressed against the other wall as he tries to work out what’s going on. The man who was with him sounds like he’s struggling, feet and hands banging on the bricks and on whatever’s pinning him, but those sounds are getting quieter.

Then they stop, and there’s just that terrifying slurping.

Finally, that horrible noise stops, and something heavy drops to the floor. Matt can’t stop himself from flinching. Suddenly he feels like someone’s walked over his grave, and he knows that the monster is looking at him. He tries to speak, say something that might make it go away, but nothing comes out.

Footsteps on pavement as the monster walks closer and closer, and finally Matt finds his voice to whisper “Please.” He can feel his heart in his throat and this is it, he’s gonna die, Dad’s gonna be so disappointed when he sees him in Heaven…

Rough hands grab him under his arms and drag him to his feet. Matt finally manages to scream, but one of the hands wraps around his face before it can start. Whatever is holding him laughs coldly, like he’s funny. Suddenly, Matt is furious.

Wrenching his head around, he sinks his teeth into the hand over his face, as hard as he can.

His teeth break skin, but the monster jerks its hand away from his face. It laughs again, but this time it’s not as cold.

“Got spirit, kid,” it says. “Pity I have to kill you.”

Matt spits in his face.

When he hears the wet smack of his spit landing on the monster’s skin, he feels almost happy. At least he can tell Dad he went out fighting.

Suddenly there’s a wet, tearing noise, and the hand is clamped back over his face – only this time the monster is forcing it inside his mouth. It’s bleeding; the blood is flowing freely into his mouth, and he wants to gag, spit it out, but the monster’s grip is too hard. The blood fills his mouth and spills down his throat, and he feels like he’s going to drown on it.

Dimly he hears the monster say “I like you, kid. Might as well keep you. I haven’t had a fledging in too long.” Matt doesn’t understand, what is the monster saying, he…he’s fading out, the sounds are blurring, and the blood is filling up his mouth, he can’t breathe. But everything’s going dim now, so that’s okay. It can be over now, and he’ll see Dad again, at least it doesn’t

 

 

When Matt wakes up, he’s on fire.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wilson falls in love, just a little.

Contrary to popular human mythology, vampires do sleep, though they don’t need as much as humans. Wilson has always found sleep to be a waste of time, doing it only when absolutely necessary, but he indulges occasionally. Besides, going to sleep means waking up.

Waking up, in this instance, is particularly pleasant.

When he opens his eyes to late afternoon sunlight, the first thing he’s aware of is Matthew. As far as Wilson can remember, they went to sleep with him on his back and Matthew curled on his side, with a fair amount of space between them. At some point, Matthew has moved into the crook of his arm, and he has turned onto his side and thrown an arm over his lover to draw him even closer. The warm weight of him against Wilson’s chest is incredibly comforting.

Matthew is _here,_ safe with him, as he should be. No unhealed wounds, no guilt to crush him and force him into harm’s way. In sleep, his face is soft and slack, peaceful as it so rarely is when he’s awake.

Wilson suddenly realises that he wants to see this more often. Every day, if he can manage it. If Matthew will let him.

His heart rate must change, or maybe his breathing pattern, because Matthew begins to stir. Wilson watches in silence as he comes awake slowly, piece by piece. When he’s reasonably conscious, his first action is to take a deep breath and bury his face in Wilson’s chest. That is…Wilson has so few words for how Matthew makes him feel. Vanessa could probably describe it with perfect precision, but he’s no poet. He can’t explain how he feels, and he doesn’t have to; here, it’s enough to simply feel.

He runs a palm over Matthew’s side, leans down and noses at his neck. Matthew tilts his head up in sleepy acceptance, oh, this boy will never not take his breath away. His lover smells of himself, and of Wilson, and of warmth and satisfaction. He will always think Matthew smells perfect, but he thinks he likes this scent more than any other.

Matthew makes a noise against his skin, breath a warm puff, before saying “You smell like me.” Off-hand comments like that shouldn’t make Wilson’s throat close up, but Matthew has an unholy amount of influence over him already.

“Likewise,” he manages, and he can feel Matthew’s lips stretch into a smile against his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is surprisingly un-awkward morning-after coffee.

Vanessa opens her eyes to muted afternoon sunlight, and Karen’s head resting on her stomach. The air of her bedroom is filled with a mixture of her scent, Karen’s and Claire’s. It’s undeniably pleasant.

As afternoons go, she’s had far worse.

It only takes her seconds to notice Claire’s absence, and only slightly longer to pick up the scent of coffee from her kitchen. Careful manoeuvring is required to extricate herself from Karen without waking her, but she manages it, and Karen does not stir as Vanessa lowers her head gently to a pillow and stands. Not surprising; after all, she and Claire had quite worn her out last night.

The memory of that, of Karen coming apart under their hands, all those edges melting away into greedy compliance – it is so very satisfying.

After taking a moment to appreciate the picture Karen makes, sprawled over her sheets in the dim golden light of her bedroom, scent heavy with all three of them, Vanessa turns and walks to the kitchen.

Claire is perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, bent over a cup of coffee. She looks up when Vanessa enters the room and gives her a slightly hesitant smile, which Vanessa returns at full force. She makes herself another cup, and takes it over to sit opposite Claire.

“Sleep well?” she enquires, and Claire grins ruefully.

“Too well. You’re lucky it’s my day off. I swear, vampire hours are worse than the night shift.”

“Nosferatu, darling,” Vanessa corrects. If Claire is going to surround herself with them, she should at least know the proper terminology.

Claire raises an eyebrow at that, and Vanessa raises one right back. She grins, and it’s warm and bright, and undeniably beautiful. “Riiight. Nosferatu. Anything else I should know?”

“Oh plenty,” – and Vanessa may be falling, just a little, for these two brave, strong women; for the angry young nosferatu who will keep pushing at any boundary put in front of her and never _stop_ , for the granite-boned human who never once considered that she might be outmatched in any way by the millennia-old vampire she’s drinking coffee with. She always had a weakness for beautiful things, beautiful people, and these two are art in motion, glorious in their unpretentious reality, in their city-toughened skins and warm, solidly beating hearts – “too much to teach you right now. Maybe when you visit next.”

She’s taking a gamble here, she knows, but the way Claire stiffens and then relaxes convinces her that she made the right call. She’s glad. Vanessa doesn’t associate with many humans, not outside her business and general day-to-day interactions, but she’ll gladly include this one in her life for as long as she’s there and willing. After all, the three of them fit together so much better than Vanessa and Karen ever could on their own.

“You know,” Claire says, grinning slyly up at her, “I just might take you up on that. Your coffee is fucking _excellent_.”

“Just my coffee?” Vanessa can’t help but ask, can’t help but tease, flirt a little.

“Eh,” Claire shrugs, “your apartment’s not bad either.”

Later, she can worry about Claire’s mortality, about Karen’s very obvious issues, about how much she wants to _keep_ them both. Later.

Vanessa sits back on her stool, continues bantering with Claire, and allows herself this moment.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which vampire law is discussed, and Matt becomes more confused than ever.

God, but he should have known. Stick is – was, fuck, Stick _was_ \- way too damn proud to let an insult like _that_ lie. He should have healed within a couple of days at the latest, and been back to full strength by the end of the week. He should have returned to make Matt and Karen’s lives hell.

Matt had been preparing himself to face the man again for weeks, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Finding out that it wouldn’t happen, that the life he’d built and the people he shares it with are safe from his asshole of a father figure _forever_ …he really doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Really goddamn relieved, yes, obviously. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He’s lived with the thought of Stick hanging over him for so long, knowing he doesn’t have to guard against that particular danger ever again is wonderful. But at the same time…

Sires are complicated.

Or at least, that’s what he’d told Foggy, to get him to stop asking about Stick. It’s only sort of a lie – on many levels, he basically just _hates_ Stick, viscerally and with an intensity which he thinks is perfectly justified. The bastard stole his humanity and any chance he had left of a normal life, made him into a monster without even bothering to secure his permission, and abandoned him with only a vague and instinctive idea of his new self no more than two years later. Of course he hates him.

On the other hand, Stick is his sire. His creator, his…he hates to think of Stick as a father, because that position will always be taken by Jack Murdock, who for all his faults filled it better than Stick ever could. Anyway, he’s _something_ to Matt, something that, try as he might, he can’t burn away. So no matter how he feels about the dick, a part of Matt is always going to mourn him. Which sucks.

And then there’s the matter of who finally managed to kill his asshole of a sire.

Fisk had stood stiff and tense as he told Matt about beheading Stick, like he was expecting a blow at any moment. Like he thinks Matt is going to fly into a vengeful rage and try to Molotov cocktail his head or something. He’d relaxed a little when Matt, after dropping heavily into a seat, admitted that he was relieved Stick was dead. But Matt’s been careful not to say just how relieved.

He’s already far too drawn to Fisk for his own damn good. He doesn’t want to give the man something else to hold over him.

Instead he says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Fisk huffs softly, and when he speaks, his voice is full of a bunch of emotions Matt doesn’t really want to name. “Nonsense. Abandoning your own fledgling, it’s…” He stops for a second, seeming to struggle for words. “It’s a crime, one of the most serious. It carries the death penalty.”

Matt looks up at that, because this is the first he’s heard of vampires having a system of law, outside a few vague and poetic hints. “We have a death penalty?” He doesn’t even notice the pronoun until Fisk’s breath catches slightly.

“For the worst offences, yes.” Fisk’s voice is achingly soft, and Matt thinks he preferred it when Fisk was nothing more than a scent and a threat. When he could pretend that the head of New York’s biggest coven was just another vampire to avoid. Now he’s a person in Matt’s head, and definitely not a terrible one. Not at all, which is probably going to make a lot of things very hard. “You were wronged, Matthew. Justice should have been done years ago, but I hope…I hope you’ll be able to rest easier now.”

Father protect him, Fisk actually sounds like he _cares_.

Matt takes a deep breath, letting the scent that seems to fill every room Fisk sets foot in fill his lungs as well. He’s going to walk away from this meeting with it clinging to his clothes and skin, and that should be worrying, but it’s not. He kind of likes it – it’s a little like sandalwood, and a little like cloves, and far too much like home.

There are a thousand ways he could respond to this, so he doesn’t know what makes him lead with the truth. “It was years ago. I’m grateful, really, but it wasn’t worth it.” _I’m_ not worth it, is what he means, but he won’t say that. No point in giving Fisk even more ammunition than he already has.

“Matthew,” – and now there’s something _sad_ in Fisk’s voice, and it’s breaking his heart a little – “of course it was. Of course you are.”

What is it with this man, and always knowing exactly the right words to take Matt’s breath away?

When he finally gets home, he dumps his almost spotless clothes in the laundry basket and takes a long, hot shower. It takes three applications of shower gel before he stops smelling of Fisk.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vanessa is both callous and kind.

When dealing with fledglings, it is imperative not to startle them, or show any great displeasure. And Wilson is a fledgling, for all that he towers over her, for all that he will probably be as strong as her one day. Worse, he is _her_ fledgling, and the phantom ache that his pain causes is making her a little irrational.

Vanessa doesn’t bother to quiet her footsteps as she walks through to the bedroom. Her fledgling is curled in a ball on the bed – it should be impossible for one so large, but he looks nearly small. When he registers her presence over him, he turns his face into the mattress. His impressive muscles are stiff with tension.

Slowly does it. She doesn’t try to lay hands on him just yet, but she settles on the bed beside him and waits for him to speak. It takes him whole minutes, but they have time.

“I enjoyed it.”

Wilson’s voice is scratchy, almost a whisper. Finally, she gives into the urge to reach for him, and runs a hand along his side. He flinches, stiffens even further. She pulls the hand back.

“I enjoyed it,” he repeats softly, as if he can’t quite make himself process that fact. Knowing her Wilson, he most likely can’t. He’s always held himself to such a high moral standard, terrified of becoming the monster his human father was. The Change seems only to have exacerbated it. It will fade in time, she is sure. While it lasts…despite the trouble it causes both of them, she loves him for his desire to control himself, to be better than he is. Wilson has always been more akin to nosferatu than humans. He was meant to be this.

Right now, he can’t see that; she Changed him late, after all. Fifty years is so long to humans, more than long enough to have a significant effect on his morals. It’s only been half a year, not nearly long enough for him to stop thinking like a human. From his perspective, the killing of a human is murder.

Vanessa is not worried – he’ll learn. Within the decade, this incident will mean less than nothing to him.

She wishes she could tell him this, but she knows it would be less than reassuring. So she tells him honestly, “We all lose control sometimes. It’s an unavoidable evil.”

Now he turns to look at her, and his expression is pure agony. “This will happen again?” he asks, sounding stricken.

“How long had it been since you’d fed?” she counters, and his lips tighten.

“Weeks.”

She holds back her sigh; Wilson has been far too resistant to feeding. “Feed more often, love. You mustn’t allow it to get so bad.” He closes his eyes and nods, and she knows he understands, that he will be more careful in future. Vanessa would have preferred him to act for his own safety, but right now, she’s just glad he won’t try to hurt himself like that anymore.

In her long life, she has created very few fledglings. Human lives are fleeting, and as such she normally takes care not to become attached. Wilson has always been special – he looked upon her as an equal from the moment they met, and had charmed her with his awkward sincerity and obvious passion. She could never have allowed a man like him to be lost to time. It would have been an unforgivable waste of art.

Only she cannot remember ever being so _attached_ to any piece of art in all her very long life.

It takes hours, but eventually Wilson allows her to touch him, to stroke and hold and reassure. Despite his self-hatred, he still yearns to be accepted, loved; she’s glad of it. One day, hopefully, he will let her show him that he is not a monster. For now, she’ll content herself with small victories.

Wilson feeds mostly regularly after that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Matt does not allow power dynamics to get in the way of kissing.

Wilson kisses Matt like he’s kissing an incredibly fragile work of art, like he’ll break him if he pushes too hard. There’s something reverent about it too, something a little worshipful. Blasphemous, Matt knows, but in Wilson’s arms, he can’t help feeling a little blessed.

It’s amazing, but Matt wants _more_.

He presses up into the kiss, making it harder, dirtier. Wilson responds in kind and, yes, _this_ is what he wanted. Wilson’s hands are still too damn _gentle_ though, running up his sides and tangling in his hair, but never pulling.

When the kiss breaks, their foreheads resting together, breathing in each other’s scent, Matt says, “I won’t break, you know.”

Like this, he can feel the muscles in Wilson’s face move as the man smiles. When he raises his hand to trace the expression, both of them shudder.

“I know,” Wilson replies softly, and his voice is hoarse, almost a growl. “I know.”

Then there are arm around his back, and he’s being _lifted_ , like he weighs nothing at all.  It’s sudden and dizzy, and the power in those huge arms is making Matt’s head spin. He’s kissed again, and Matt wraps his legs around Wilson’s waist, and focuses on giving as good as he gets.

He won’t break, and if Wilson wants to take it slow, he’s damn well going to have to fight Matt for it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vanessa is given a gift.

 

Claire runs her teeth over Karen’s collarbone, light enough to leave no marks. That doesn’t stop the skin flushing a bright red, or Karen arching up and tilting her head back even further. As if in reward, Claire’s next bite leaves twin pink crescents behind, making Karen _mewl_.

God. God, it’s…Vanessa has no words for how beautiful this is. These two have struck her completely speechless.

It’s the way Claire moves over her, hands firm around Karen’s upper arms, straddling her lover and leaning down over her in a perfect curve of dusky skin covering shoulder blades and spine, the sturdy yet delicate architecture of her bones showing through. It’s in how easily Karen could dislodge the hands holding her, and how easily she chooses not to – this girl who tenses at shadows giving herself over so completely, trusting in Claire to hold her here and not let her break.

When Claire leans down to sink teeth into Karen’s throat, deep enough to break skin for just a second, Karen gives a high-pitched whine and twists her legs to wrap around one of Claire’s thighs, trying desperately to grind up onto it. She gets a hand across her cheek for her troubles, the sound of the hit crisp and sharp, making something in Vanessa’s chest tighten and sing.

“You told me you’d stay still, baby,” Claire reprimands softly, her voice slightly hoarse as she leans down, lets her hair brush over the cheek she just slapped. “You still want to be good for us, don’t you?”

Vanessa can’t help but suck in a breath at the pronoun, the way she’s being _included_ in this, given this _honour_ , and then Karen _obeys_ , sliding back to the covers with a soft noise of agreement, and it is –

Vanessa had thought her defiance attractive, but now she has seen her _compliance_ …

Claire goes back to teasing her captive, running teeth and lips across her neck, shoulders and chest, occasionally dipping her head to bite at her breasts, and Vanessa can hear her own heartbeat speed up at the way Karen throws her head back, at the tension in Claire’s thighs as she moves. The picture they make together is stunning, and as much as she _yearns_ to be part of it…

Karen is Claire’s, Claire is Karen’s, they _own_ each other in a way she daren’t touch. She doesn’t regret accepting their offer, but for all the lovely distractions, she can’t help feeling a little out of place.

As if she can read her thoughts, Claire glances over, and her smile is somehow both kind and devious. “You know the whole point of this was you joining in, right?”

“You seem to be handling it just fine.” Claire arches an eyebrow at that.

“I can’t reach her thighs from here. She loves having them bitten, by the way. Also you could help me hold her down, she’s getting squirmy.” There’s something about the matter-of-factness in Claire’s voice, the sly curve of her smile, the way Karen whimpers when their words penetrate…oh, who is she fooling, everything about this is enough to take her breath away.

Vanessa lets her smile go predatory as she leaves the chair she’d ended up in and walks towards the bed, shedding her dress and lingerie as she goes. When she climbs up beside them, the first thing she does is pull Claire into a deep kiss. She tries desperately to communicate just how honoured, how _grateful_ she is for this, and by the look in Claire’s eyes as they finally break apart, she thinks she’s done a reasonable job of it.

Karen is obviously feeling neglected, judging by the way she twists against the mattress. Without really stopping to think about what she’s doing, Vanessa shifts and grabs her legs, pinning them back to the bed. “None of that, darling,” she admonishes, and Claire laughs brilliantly as Karen goes limp between them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Matt finally gets some sleep.

Matt should probably go home. It’s edging into Saturday morning, and while they don’t technically have work today, there’s still some things he could be doing right now. Somewhere. Probably.

On the other hand, it’s almost sunrise. He’d been extremely relieved to find out that being cremated by sunlight was as much of a myth as being repelled by crosses, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re nocturnal. Sunlight doesn’t hurt vampires – nosferatu, whatever – but Karen always complains about the brightness, and mornings have a soporific effect on both of them. No matter how…human…his sleep schedule is, he’ll always be most tired in the hours after dawn. It’s irritating, but he’s learned to live with it.

It’s Saturday, and it’s morning, and if he tried to go in to work, Karen and Foggy would probably stage an intervention. Besides, he is _exhausted_.

And very warm.

Wilson runs hot, unusually hot even for a vampire, and Vanessa isn’t exactly a cold-body herself. Being sandwiched between them is like curling around a radiator in winter – it’s cold outside, cold enough that Matt can smell the crisp, clean non-scent of frost on the windows. It’s like layering soft blankets and lying with your whole body covered. It’s warm like home is warm, even warmer because it’s safe.

He doesn’t know when he started feeling safe around them, both of them. God help him, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

Right now, he really can’t bring himself to care. He’s just had a ridiculous amount of orgasms, has caused a considerable amount himself between the two of them, and now he’s blanketed by two warm soft-solid bodies in a room that smells like all three of them blended together. He has bite-marks on his neck – vampire bites heal slow, which he really shouldn’t be so pleased about – and occasional phantom tingles around his wrists and throat which are just as grounding as the pressure of their bodies. The man he can feel himself growing to love has him pulled into his side, arm tucked around him, and the woman he can’t help but be fascinated by has pillowed his head on her chest. Vanessa is asleep by now, but her hand is still buried in his hair, and every now and then she’ll curl her fingers and scratch, lightly.

Wilson is awake, but Matt’s fairly sure he’s on his way down. Both of them are – Matt is ridiculously comfortable, and _warm,_ did he mention how warm he is? – but Matt will probably fall asleep first. He’s so deliciously drowsy, and Wilson’s arm is hooked around his shoulder and chest, a perfect anchor holding him down, in this room, exactly where he wants to be. No-one will break in here and, if by some miracle, _something_ manages to get through their security, three highly skilled vampires are more than enough to deal with pretty much any threat, even when half-asleep. Here, Matt can relax. The realisation is intoxicating.

He falls asleep to the sound of their breathing.


End file.
